Sometimes the lack of something is greater than it’s presence and that the existence of something is defined and created by its lack.A person can often be more significant in his absence than his presence because physical presence reduces a person into a spatialized and physical stature, where an absence transfigures a person in the minds of others temporally. A person can become more omnipresent in his absence.

I don’t fantasize about fucking another person besides my actual partner.Instead,I project my mind into my partner and think with her brain,and pretend as if I am her,and imagine what it feels like to fuck myself.Other times I’d imagine myself as a 3rd organism:the physical and mental combination of both of us,and imagine what it feels like to exist in reality as the metaphysical manifestation of lust,love and flesh.


Deadlifting a baby

*this was NOT a dream.

I came across an abandoned baby who was lying in the middle of the railroad track.  I never liked babies, but I had to rescue it due to my biological instincts…strong impulses that were forcing me to pick it up and place it in a safe spot, and if I’m nice enough, find its owners and return it to them without making a big deal out of it.  I looked around and made sure that no trains were coming, jumped down from the platform to the railroad tracks and looked down at the baby.  Its eyes were big and wide, but as if there were invisible veils covering its eyeballs, I felt like it wasn’t looking out into the world at all.  I tried to pick it up, but damn, it was incredibly heavy!  I got into my dead-lifting position and tried to pick it up that way, but I still couldn’t move it.  Now, I’ve dead-lifted closed to 500 pounds, and even though that record was set over a year ago, I knew I could still flip up a few hundred pounds if I wanted to, especially in a life and death situation like this where all the brakes on my muscles were released.  But despite my best effort of draining my nervous system and exhausting every string of my fast twitched muscle fibers, that baby wouldn’t move an inch.  Either the weight and the substance of this baby is in a plane of reality that is beyond my level of comprehension and physical capacity, or that I had suddenly and mysteriously lost all of my strengths and became so weak that I couldn’t even lift up a baby.  I figured that the latter explaination was more plausible, but just when I was about to cry for help, a train popped out of nowhere.  I jumped out of the way and watched in horror as it ran over the baby.  I heard splashy and squishy sounds of flesh and organs ripping and tearing.  And when the train had passed, I could see what’s left of the baby, as bits and pieces of it were scattered all over the railroad track and blood was everywhere.   


Blaming no one but myself for the death of the baby, I went home, took out a sharp scissor from my drawer and started stabbing myself with it.  But no matter how hard I stabbed myself, no blood would come out, and no pain could be felt…it was almost as if I was stabbing a plastic doll.  I gave up and ran up to my mother’s room.  I figured that if I couldn’t hurt or kill myself, then maybe by killing the ones I love I could somehow indirectly destroy a part of my existence and erase my guilt.  My mom was watching TV when I went up to her and stabbed her multiple times in the breasts and scalp.   Just as the way I stabbed myself, there was no effect.  I gave up and went inside my brother’s room.  He was napping and I thought that was the perfect moment to murder him because he would probably die without knowing what or who killed him.  I repeatedly stabbed all over his body with a mixture of my absolute, reactive, and explosive strength, but again, no blood came out.  Frustrated as shit, I dropped my scissor onto the floor, covered my face with my hands, broke down and cried like a little girl.